


Close Encounters of The Drunk Kind

by ChibiTabatha



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Anger and Sadness, Beer, College, Forduary, Gen, Table Top Games, kinda angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiTabatha/pseuds/ChibiTabatha
Summary: Fidds convinces Ford to come to 'The Dungeon', a DDmD campaign run on campus. And maybe to escape his own demons he brings beer.





	Close Encounters of The Drunk Kind

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Forduary week 2 College. I know I'm super duper late. And for that I'm sorry. But better late than never right? 
> 
> Please enjoy and I'm sorry if my hillbilly isn't perfect. I tried my hardest.

Pens, check. Rule books, check. Graph paper, check. Dice, check. Checking his messenger bag again, he triple checked his mental checklist. Fidds did say he didn’t need to bring anything else. Just himself and the basics. His gaze shifted to the six-pack of beer on his desk, ‘ _It’s BYOB Ford. Brin’ yer own beer. Ifn’ you don’ want ta drink, don’ worry yerself over it._ ’ Shifting his weight foot to foot, he chewed his bottom lip slightly.   
  
_‘It ain’t gonna bite Sixer. Jus’ try it!’_ he could still feel that large hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Shaking his head hard he grabbed the case. Now was the time to put that selfish, arrogant fool out of his mind for good. The door slammed behind him, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys to the deadbolt on his room. He cursed under his breath and threw the keys on the floor with a jangle.   
  
His breathing was hard and fast, vision blacking around the edges. Shutting his eyes, he pressed his forehead against the warm wood of his door. Inhaling deeply through his nose, he held the air in his lungs a moment before letting it rush out. His emotions were getting the better of him. Taking a few last deep breaths, he picked his keys off the floor. The smooth click of the deadbolt sliding into place helped calm the last of his nerves. It was like he was locking all those bad things away, tucking them back onto their proper shelves and calling it a day.   
  
Heading to the campus at this time of night seemed odd, even for him. Yes, he often spent over night in the campus library, but really he had to work twice as hard as anyone else. So he was used to being on school grounds for 24 to 48 hours, but leaving for a handful of hours to come back? Absolutely unheard of for **The** Stanford Pines. Passing by the labs, the library, it all felt surreal. All the lights off, not a soul around, for a Saturday night the school felt like a ghost town.   
  
A dim light filtered from under a class door, or as Fidds had called it, ‘The Dungeon’. A haphazard sign was held in place by a handcrafted magnet, the only reason he knew it was handcrafted was the fact that the numbers on the half of the 38-sided die were going in the wrong direction. An easy mistake, but that didn’t take away from the absolute charm and novelty of the thing. His eyes scanned the paper, it was just a simple sign making those aware on the other side of the door that Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons was taking place.   
  
“It’s alright. They love the game as much as you do. No one is going to care about your hands Stanford. It’s fine,” he muttered to himself.   
  
As his hand grabbed the handle to open the door he felt that large warm hand on his shoulder, _‘Jus’ show ‘em that cool dice trick Sixer. It’ll knock ‘em dead.’_ His knuckles whitened with the death grip on the handle. He left that behind. These emotions. These memories. They were locked in that room. The room across the campus, where they couldn’t bother him anymore.   
  
Opening the door with a soft nervous smile, he was greeted first by Fiddleford, “You made it! Did’n think ya’d make it!”   
  
He chuckled nervously, “Yeah I figured it’d be nice to unwind a bit,” he lifted the case of beer slightly. It felt five times heavier than it had when he left his dorm room, but he chalked it up to the long walk and not the phantom whispers in his ears.   
  
“Ya brang yer’ own beer?” the country-man blinked at him suspiciously.   
  
He blinked at the other man owlishly, “Yeah, wanted to give it a shot and figured if I don’t like it, someone else could help me with it.”   
  
The smaller man relaxed visibly, clapping him on the back, “I’s a great idea Ford.” The small hand didn’t move from his back and it helped guide him towards the other guys and one girl huddled around a workbench. “Hey fellers, this h’re is St’nferd,” Fidds released him from his gentle guidance by pointing a thumb in his direction.   
  
The guy on his left held out his hand, “I’m Guillaume, but everyone calls me Will.” Ford nervously reached out to shake the man’s hand, “Whoa cool! Never seen polydactyly up close like this before!”   
  
Ford swallowed, before he could say anything everyone was around him looking at his hands, turning them over examining them. The one girl was standing off to the side, watching the whole fiasco happen. Names were thrown at him, Tom, Jason, Alex. He wasn’t exactly sure who was who in the whole hubbub but at least they didn’t think his hands were weird. Finally the girl walked over, but girl wasn’t the right word, not at all. She was clearly a young woman, probably a senior in the school. “Nice to meet you finally Stanford Pines,” her voice was slightly accented, but he wasn’t too sure where it was from. “Fiddleford has told us much about you,” she offered him a small smile and her hand.   
  
Again he reached out tentatively, but instead of the same treatment he got from the guys she just shook his hand calmly. “Nice to meet you too,” he offered his own small smile.   
  
Fidd’s gently placed a hand on the woman’s waist, “Jolie here is our DM believe it or not!”   
  
That was astonishing, only because he had assumed Fidds was the DM. Why else would the man have invited him? “Unfortunately I have an important matter early tomorrow, so for now we’ll fill out a character sheet and you can get to know the boys over a few drinks,” she motioned to the work bench which mostly only had booze.   
  
Following the woman to an empty space he pulled out a blank character sheet and his dice. Rolling his stats he filled out everything slowly and under the careful scrutiny of the older woman. Once everything was filled out, she bid her good byes and left the men to their own devices.   
  
“In’t she jus’ the sweetest French girl?” Fidds leaned against the table, sipping from his open can of beer.   
  
Ah, that would explain the soft accent, “French?”   
  
“Her paren’s sent ‘er down from Canada,” Fidds looked melancholy for a moment but it passed. “C’mon, let’s see wha’ the guys ‘re upta,” he motioned for them to join the others.   
  
After settling at the table and sipping his first ever beer, Ford felt he could relax. The guys were all super relaxed. Complaining about girls, complaining about teachers and other students, complaining about family. Of course he joined right in, complaining about his hard-ass father. Not letting him go to a better equipped school. He blamed it on their financial situation, even though it wasn’t the entirety of the case. These people didn’t need to know about the man who he could still hear sometimes. The man who ruined his life. The man who condemned him to this college by leaving in the night and never coming back. Ma didn’t want him to be too far away after that. So here he was.   
  
Maybe he had let some of that slip, he wasn’t too sure. Time was slipping. He looked at his case of beer, when did he get through the second can and start his third? He turned his head to his new acquaintances, this wasn’t so bad. Getting together to shoot the shit. It felt normal, it felt okay.   
  
Suddenly the room felt like it was spinning out of control, he couldn’t tell right from left, or up from down. That warm phantom hand on his shoulder didn’t anger him this time, it just made something deep in his heart cry out in pain. _‘Heeeey buddy… Maybe you should take it easy?’_ and even though it was hardly a whisper he could barely make out over the laughter, he strained his ears to hear it. He laid his forehead down on the table and tried to grab hold of that phantom hand. Of course nothing was there and his heartbeat felt very empty suddenly.   
  
Yet as he had his eyes closed he felt a large warm had rub his back. Helped him drink water. Murmured soft, voiceless reassurances in his ear. The gravelly voice familiar and foreign all at once. He relaxed and sighed, letting the dream wash over him.   
  
He stayed that way until a small warm hand shook him, “Time ta go, up and at ‘em St’nferd.” He sat up blinking his eyes, the other guys were packing up their stuff, their happy buzzes still apparent. He nodded and packed the last two cans into his bag. Two cans? Didn’t he only drink three? He shook his head, no matter. “That feller was awful nice while you were snoozin’ like a baby,” Fidds smiled at him.   
  
Ford looked at his friend baffled, “Pardon?”   
  
“Ye, a scruffy lookin’ feller. Bit bigg’r th’n yerself,” Fidds nodded.   
  
His heart stopped, he didn’t know any scruffy looking guys. He kept to himself, everyone in the school knew that. Than who? “What would you say he looked like Fidds?”   
  
“Dunno ‘is name, he’s wif Jolie though. Yerr height, bit bigger, like I said. Hear ‘e does boxin’ and fisticuffs. Iffn’ I had ta say, you coulda been related,” Fidds laughed at that. “But that’s jus’ the booze talkin’ Ferd.”   
  
He stumbled back to his room in a daze. A man his height, slightly bigger? A boxer? There was no way… Could there? He needed to sleep on it.   
  
When the morning came and he finally managed to track Jolie down, he wasn’t surprised to see red-rimmed eyes. “He’s gone?” he sat next to her on one of the campus benches.   
  
“Yes. He was worried about you. Asked me to tell you nothing. But I know he loves you and only wants the best for you,” tears spilled down her splotchy cheeks.   
  
“Why did he leave? Clearly you cared deeply for him,” he wanted to comfort the woman beside him but he was unsure how, so he fiddled with his extra fingers.   
  
“That I can’t tell you Stanford Pines. But I can tell you you need to learn how to live and let live. C’est la vie, and such,” she offered him a watery smile. She stood and brushed off the hem of her skirt, “I’ll see you next week for our campaign?”   
  
He was speechless. Stanley was here, he had been there caring for him last night. Then he left in the night. No chance to talk to him, no chance to see him. Blinking slowly his gaze shifted again to the woman, “I’m… I’m not sure. I-I have to think about it.”   
  
She just nodded and left him to sit on the bench, thinking of the encounter he could hardly recall as real.


End file.
